


Against All the Powers Ranged

by WingedFlight



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Charn, Dimension Travel, F/M, POV Outsider, Star-crossed, Time Travel, Wood Between the Worlds, references to canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:13:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29011833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingedFlight/pseuds/WingedFlight
Summary: The first time Lazulis meets the dark-haired stranger, she is eight years old in a courtyard full of snow. The second time is in the training yard and Lazulis is twelve years older; the stranger has not aged a day.
Relationships: Edmund Pevensie/Jadis' Sister
Comments: 21
Kudos: 28
Collections: Past Imperfect Future Unknown 2020





	1. England, 1952

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nabielka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nabielka/gifts).



> "It was my sister's fault," said the Queen. "She drove me to it. May the curse of all the Powers rest upon her forever!”  
> \-- The Magician’s Nephew, C.S. Lewis
> 
> “Love is what we have, against time and death, against all the powers ranged to crush us down.”   
> \-- This Is How You Lose The Time War, Amal El-Mohtar & Max Gladstone

**ENGLAND, 1952**

“I don’t understand,” Susan said after Edmund first explained his intentions. “What would be the point?” 

They were seated together in the park two blocks from the bank where Susan had been working all summer. A bright red napkin lay across Susan’s lap like a tablecloth, catching the crumbs from her triangle-cut sandwich. Edmund had chosen to forego lunch in favour of his third coffee of the day. He was fairly sure his jitters were from the caffeine and not because he’d been nervous to hear Susan’s opinion.

“The point?” he repeated. “I’m not sure there  _ is _ a point, except maybe curiousity. Do I need anything more?” 

She peered at him skeptically. “It’s a strange thing to be curious about.” 

“Is it?” 

He took a sip from his thermos. Susan finished her sandwich. From her purse, she removed an apple and paring knife and began cutting up the fruit. They shared the slices in companionable silence. 

Then Susan said, “You can’t save everyone, you know.” 

Edmund looked to her sharply. Susan was wiping her blade clean on her napkin, deliberately choosing not to meet his eyes. Working hard to keep his voice steady, Edmund reminded her, “I wasn’t able to save anyone.” 

To this, Susan said nothing. Edmund took another sip of his coffee and hoped she didn’t notice how his hand shook.  _ It’s the caffeine, _ he told himself again, and wasn’t sure whether he was glad that Susan didn’t point it out.

* * *

Andrew Ketterley’s rings had been stashed in the bottom of Edmund’s sock drawer for two years, nine months, and eight days. Which was, coincidentally, exactly how long it had been since the funeral. He’d opened the drawer plenty of times since then, occasionally pulling back his socks to reveal the innocuous little tin. If he listened close, he could hear the magic humming from it. But he hadn’t ever taken the tin from the drawer, hadn’t ever opened it. Hadn’t dared to touch the rings since the train crash. 

Not until today. 

He busied himself in preparations, first: food, clothes, and med kit were all tucked into the rucksack. He debated briefly between two different hunting knives before ultimately choosing to hang the larger from his belt and hide the smaller in his pack. He’d sourced a nondescript wool travelling cloak that sat comfortably over his leather bomber jacket. His boots were worn in just enough to be comfortable. Last but certainly not least, he pulled on what might have been considered the most important part of his outfit: a pair of thin leather gloves. 

Hands safely clad, Edmund removed the little tin from his sock drawer and cracked the lid. The rings sang, fiercely enticing. There were four pairs in total, plus one: four green, five yellow. Edmund lay one pair on a handkerchief, hesitated, and added the unpaired yellow as well. Then he returned the tin with its remaining rings to the drawer where Susan would find it if he failed to return. 

As for the rings he kept out, those went into the inner pockets of his jacket: the green in the right and both yellow in the left. “Green for the worlds,” he muttered to himself, “and yellow for the wood.” 

There was nothing else to do now but leave. Edmund found himself hesitating. He looked about his small bachelor flat and wondered what he was missing. He’d cleaned everything up, taken out the garbage, and eaten all his perishables. He’d quit his job at the shop and told everyone that might look for him that he’d be away. He’d packed everything on his list. 

After another moment’s thought, he stomped into the kitchen and set the water boiling. It didn’t take long to brew the coffee, half of which Edmund poured into a thermos and the rest of which he downed in one go. 

“Better,” he decided, and rinsed the pot clean. 

Everything was settled. Edmund removed one glove and reached into his left pocket.


	2. Charn, 1123

**CHARN, 1123**

For a festival named after the Power of Death, Murvad’s Night had no business being so excruciatingly boring. Lazulis did not think this was at all fair, for a number of reasons. First: she had waited eight whole years to be allowed to participate in the sacred vigil with the rest of her family, and it was really not living up to expectations. Second: the vigil was reserved for the royal family only, which meant everyone else in the empire down to the lowest slave was currently partying in the streets. Even all the way inside the Hall of Images, she could  _ hear _ them. Third: Lazulis’s sister was still too young for the vigil and, while this had been a point of pride for Lazulis before the night began, it had since soured into envy. Lazulis  _ hated _ feeling envious of Jadis. 

There was no way of knowing how much time had passed since the vigil began. Her legs and back felt sore from sitting cross legged on the floor for so long. She was supposed to keep her eyes closed but was afraid of falling asleep; instead, Lazulis studied the wax Images of her ancestors seated in long rows down the length of the hall on either side of her. She wished the vigil could take place at the other end of the hall, closer to the ancestors with friendly faces as opposed to those who glared sternly. For a little while, she imagined what it would look like when her father the Emperor was immortalized at the end of the row. But that was creepy to think about, almost as creepy as thinking of the Images as the people they’d once been. And when her mind went down that road, it was impossible to stop; Lazulis was filled with the horrified idea that all the Images were secretly alive and staring at her and, worse,  _ judging _ her. 

So in the end, when she finally gave up and fled the vigil, it was due to fear rather than boredom. Somehow, that distinction made it worse. 

* * *

She took refuge in the courtyard off the Queen’s Garden. There was no real need to hide; her mother the Empress had seen her leave and made no move to stop her, and no one else save her father the Emperor had the authority to force her back. But Lazulis wanted to be alone in her shame, so she cloaked herself with a Surreptitious Word and crept through the corridors until she reached the courtyard where she knew none of the palace’s skeleton staff would enter tonight.

It was cold outside, distant music pulsing through the air. Flakes of snow drifted lazily to cover the pavestones in a soft, white powder. Lazulis made a game out of crossing the courtyard in as few steps as possible, hiking her ceremonial cloak up in her arms so it wouldn’t drag behind her through the snow. She tiptoed along the edge of a flowerbed and pulled herself up onto the base of an ugly statue. Then she leaped out into the courtyard itself, landing almost halfway to the fountain at its center. Two more exaggerated jumping steps carried her the rest of the way to the fountain; Lazulis hopped up onto the rim and teetered briefly. 

The fountain had, of course, been drained before winter began but Lazulis pretended it was still filled with deep clear water. Like the young ladies at court, she primped and preened at her imaginary reflection. Then, pretending to admire the water that would be spouting into the air in warmer seasons, she lifted her head--and saw the man at the other end of the courtyard. 

For the second time that night, her cheeks burned with shame. But a closer look revealed the man was not facing her direction. In fact, he appeared to be closely studying one of the statues. Maybe he hadn’t seen her playacting at all. 

She could have taken the opportunity to slip away but the courtyard had been her refuge first. Besides,  _ he _ was not the royal heir. In fact, he was probably a servant sent to unobtrusively keep an eye on her. Lazulis hated being tailed by nursemaids but also knew how futile it was to try and send them away. So she called out to him, “Are you going to look at that statue all night?” 

The man startled at the sound of her voice. “Hullo,” he said, turning swiftly. “I hadn’t realized anyone else was here.”

Either he was a very good actor or he was telling the truth. Either one meant he was infinitely more interesting than the usual nursemaid. Lazulis dropped down from the fountain’s edge and approached him. In the moonlight, his face was pale and his hair as dark as jet. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” she told him, and bowed in the way intended for royalty greeting a stranger of unknown rank. 

The man mirrored her bow perfectly. 

More incredulous than angry, she blurted, “I could have you whipped for that.”

The man straightened, eyebrows raised. “My apologies if I made an error,” he told her, “I’m not from around here. May I ask what I did wrong?” 

“Your bow!” 

“What did I miss? I thought I copied you perfectly.” 

“You--it--it suggests you have no idea who I am, for one thing.” 

His mouth twitched. “I am afraid that’s true.” 

Lazulis squinted at him suspiciously. “You’re either an idiot or blind, then.” 

“My eyesight is fine.” He did not deny the other charge, but Lazulis rather doubted an idiot would talk or act as he did. “Maybe I’m not from here.” 

Even foreign dignitaries knew how to address various members of the court before ever arriving in Charn. How this man had managed to enter the palace with such ignorance, Lazulis had no idea. Again, she considered the option that he was simply acting clueless but could not settle on a good reason for him to do so. So she continued her lecture: “Your second mistake is that only royalty bows like that.” 

“Oh.” His brow creased. For the first time that night, she got the sense that the man was really  _ looking _ at her. “You’re the princess, then.” 

“I’m the crown princess,” she corrected, and then wondered if she came across as too haughty.

But the man simply nodded. “Greetings, Crown Princess,” he said gravely. “Now that I know who you are, which bow should I use?” 

The intricacies of bowing were so ingrained in her psyche that it actually took effort to bring them to mind. “Well,” Lazulis said doubtfully, “It depends on whether you’re a member of our court or an ambassador or…” She trailed off. 

“Let’s go with that,” he said unhelpfully. 

Lazulis stared at him hard. The man gave her a funny sort of lopsided smile and did not clarify further. She couldn’t tell if he was somebody incredibly important trying to pass as a nobody, or a nobody pretending to be important. His clothes did not help: a cloak hid most of the outfit, and the bits she could see were of a very strange fashion. “You’re from far away?” she guessed at last.

“Very far, yes.” 

And so she settled on the short, stiff bow used by the foreign ambassadors of those small, independent countries across the ocean. She’d never actually done it before, of course, but she had fun trying to mimic the motion. The man copied her and she critiqued his movements, attempting again to demonstrate, until the both of them were bobbing at each other like dilly birds. 

“I think that’s right,” she told him at last, giggling. “You look just like Ambassador Fehrivin.” 

“I hope that’s a good thing.” 

“It’s not,” she admitted, “But at least you look more dignified than he ever has.” 

He laughed. “I’ll take it. Thank you, Crown Princess, for this most useful lesson.” 

She beamed. “My pleasure--” Lazulis hesitated. “I don’t know your name.” 

“I don’t know yours.” 

What a strange man he was! She had already told him exactly who she was; even if he were blind enough not to recognize the likeness found on every havsi coin, there was not a chance he didn’t at least know the names of the Emperor’s family. But he was so very earnest in asking that she continued to play along. “My name,” she said, dipping this time into the respectful bow of royalty addressing an ambassador, “is Lazulis Ama Charni.”

“It is my honour and pleasure to meet your highness,” he said, and performed the ambassador’s bow once more. “You may call me Edmund.” 

“Edmund,” she repeated. It was a name as strange as the man himself. “Of where?” 

He waved a hand noncommittally. “Anywhere and nowhere.” 

“Edmund Ama Anywhere,” she tried, and giggled again. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you before.” 

“I would be shocked if you had.” 

“Why did you come from  _ anywhere _ to here?”

The man turned thoughtful. “I needed to see for myself,” he said, and reached out to brush some of the snow from the statue’s face. “I needed to see what made her this way.” 

“What made who like what?” 

His eyes fell to her, and they were deep and sorrowful. For a moment he did not speak, and Lazulis wondered if he was deciding not to tell her. She could always order him to spill his secrets, of course--she was the crown princess, after all--but something about his inner sadness kept her quiet. 

Before he could choose either way, something scuffed against stone behind her. The man’s attention went over her shoulder and he said softly, “Time to go.” 

Lazulis twisted around. Standing in the archway on the other end of the courtyard was one of the palace guards. The woman looked faintly surprised, which suggested she hadn’t been looking for any wayward princesses, but Lazulis knew better than to expect the guard would simply leave again. No, the best she could hope for would be the opportunity to say farewell to her new friend before the guard escorted her to the safety of her chambers and nursemaids. 

But when Lazulis turned back, the man was already gone. She was impressed by how fast he’d pulled back into the shadows. She hadn’t heard him whisper any Words to hide himself from sight, which meant he must have hidden himself without the help of the Powers. Really, she didn’t know why he’d bothered to hide at all. Had he thought he’d be in trouble with the guard for speaking to the crown princess so informally? The next time she saw him, Lazulis would have to assure the man that she wouldn’t have let the guard scold him. They were friends, after all. 

The night air seemed colder now without the companionship. Lazulis pulled her robe tight and crossed the courtyard. “You should not be out here on your own,” said the guard as she ushered Lazulis towards the door.

“I wasn’t alone,” Lazulis protested, even though she hadn’t intended on meeting anyone when she’d first gone outside. 

“Ah,” said the guard, “Playing with the statues?” 

Lazulis almost corrected her but it was easier to let the misunderstanding slide. Besides, something was beginning to worry her. Before the guard could lead her inside, Lazulis looked back over her shoulder toward the statue where she and her friend had practiced their bows. There was the patch of damp pavement where they’d stamped about, surrounded by a nearly pristine blanket of fresh-fallen snow. And there were her footprints leading away from that spot.  _ Only _ hers.

When Edmund Ama Anywhere had slipped away, he’d left no footprints behind. 


	3. Charn, 1135

**CHARN, 1135**

There was no one behind the low stone wall of the training grounds to see Edmund fade into existence, clad in the robe he’d just stolen from a closet two years in the past. This suited him just fine. 

He’d been slipping around the royal palace in the garb of a high-placed servant at various points in time over the last decade, but that disguise had recently been blown by an overly observant valet. Recently as in  _ two days, _ chronologically speaking, though he’d gone off and spent three weeks elsewhere before coming back in his new guise as a lesser minister. It probably wasn’t the safest idea to come back so close in time to that particular misstep, but there were things about to happen that he needed to see. 

Anyway, the lesser ministers were a dime a dozen around the palace these days. With his new robe and trimmed hair, no one would connect him to the suspicious servant. Or so he hoped. 

This optimism lasted about one minute, which was how long it took Edmund to climb up the stone wall. The training yard was not entirely deserted after all: a single figure was stretching only a short distance away. He considered dropping back out of sight until the figure turned and he recognized her vulpine features.

He could still hear the voice of reason from his past:  _ “Don’t change anything. You’re going only to observe.” _

But he couldn’t help it. The crown princess of Charn stood before him, alive and untouched by the wars of her future. The last time she would have spoken to him, the princess had been eight years old and teaching him the proper etiquette for greeting royalty. From her perspective, that would have been nearly twelve years ago. He could not help but wonder if she’d remember him. 

She wasn’t entirely alone, of course. Two palace guards stood a short distance away, close enough to intervene if the princess should cry out. 

This was a really bad idea. But, Edmund thought, the same could be said for the entire concept of travelling through Charn’s history in the first place. 

He pulled himself over the wall and dropped down into the yard. 

* * *

Lazulis had always found it easy to slip into a deep, unthinking state in the early morning during her warm-up stretches. Nothing mattered but the slow and deliberate movements of her body: not the politics of the court, nor the rumours of looming war against her father the Emperor, nor her younger sister’s constant attempts to undermine Lazulis’s authority as the Heir. There was only her even breathing and the fresh dew-scented air and the feel of her muscles gradually waking up. 

But even with her eyes closed and her mind set loose, Lazulis had been trained too well to ever fully lose track of the environment around her. She heard the soft exhale of the man looking over the wall, and the light thud as he hopped down into the yard. Before he could take a single step further, she’d scooped her sword from the ground and unsheathed it in the man’s direction. 

He froze, arms raised as calmly as if he didn’t have the point of a sword in his face. Mildly, he said, “Greetings, your highness.” 

Even if he were not wearing the green robe of a lower-ranked minister, his deep bow would have identified him as such. Lazulis pulled back, lowering her sword though she did not yet return it to the sheath. Ministers generally did not lurk around the training yard, and there was something about the man that played against the fringes of her memory. 

The guards were already approaching from their position at the yard’s entrance, but Lazulis held up a hand in a command to wait. She dipped her head in response to the stranger and whispered an Evocative Word to sharpen her recollection.

And there it was, an event ten years in the past: snowfall and statues and a stranger’s sharp face that had shown up at the edges of crowds and rooms repeatedly in the intervening years. In all that time, he’d hardly changed. He wore different clothes and thicker kohl around his eyes than the other times she’d spotted him, but there were none of the usual signs of aging.

“And here I thought I’d imagined you as a child,” she told him. 

“Maybe you did,” said Edmund Ama Anywhere. “Maybe you’re imagining me again.” 

Daringly, Lazulis stepped forward again to lay her empty hand on his bare arm--and pinched him. The man did not quite flinch, but it was a close thing. 

Lazulis smiled sweetly. “Proof enough for me.” 

His smile was crooked, like he was trying to suppress a laugh. “Fair enough, your highness. I suppose I should thank you for believing in my existence.” 

“Yes,” she agreed. She stepped back, lifting her sword again. “Spar with me.” 

Most ministers did not study the sword, but she had no doubt Edmund Ama Anywhere knew what he was doing even before he selected his own sword from the rack. Though his build was slight, his sleeveless robe revealed the muscular arms common among swordsmen, and he walked with a balanced stride that even the masters would envy. Upon choosing his weapon, Edmund swung it several times before spinning around to launch his attack. 

Most sparring matches began with measured paces and an agreement of terms. Even then, Lazulis’s opponents often feared to attack her with their full strength--as if any real enemy would weaken their strikes out of respect for her title. Had any of those usual sparring partners been in the yard so early this morning, they might have been aghast at the man’s intensity as he sprang towards Lazulis. 

She only felt thrilled. 

The guards, of course, were probably horrified by the sight of their crown princess sparring with a man they hadn’t even seen enter the yard. She was aware of them drawing closer, ready to step in should the man’s intentions turn deadly. Until then, they’d stay out of the way. 

The swords clashed. Just as quickly, Edmund pulled back. As they circled each other appraisingly, Lazulis said, “I looked for you, after.” 

His brow creased. “After?” 

“The courtyard. When I taught you to bow? And the next day, I hunted all through the palace and interrogated everyone, but no one else had seen you.” 

“You have a good memory,” he said, face clearing with understanding. “I apologize. I didn’t stay for long.” 

“Vanished back to anywhere?” 

She lunged forward and their swords met. Now only inches apart, she could see the amusement in his eyes as he responded, “Yes, actually.” 

Again, they pulled apart. 

“You never did tell me where this  _ anywhere _ is.” 

“Didn’t I?” 

This time when she jabbed at him, he swept her sword aside so quick that she almost lost her grip. Lazulis swung again but his blade met hers easily. Leaning closer to their crisscrossed swords, Lazulis said, “I’m waiting.” 

“You wouldn’t know it.” He pushed a little harder and Lazulis stumbled back but recovered in time to parry his follow-up slash. For a minute, the ringing of their blades took the place of any conversation, until one of the swords was flung loose to skitter across the sand. 

Panting hard, Lazulis flexed her empty hand. “That was well done,” she admitted. 

The guards were even more on edge now that she was unarmed. Lazulis allowed them to draw closer before again holding up her hand to prevent any unwarranted attacks. 

There wasn’t a chance Edmund had failed to notice the hulking guards, but he had the composure to ignore them. He scratched at his eye, inadvertently smearing the kohl, and explained, “It’s an easy trick to learn. Won’t fool anyone twice but sometimes, once is all you need. I can show you.” 

At Lazulis’s nod, one of the guards retrieved her sword and held it out respectfully. She shook her hand out and accepted it. Edmund waited until the guard had moved back to give them space before demonstrating the disarming trick. True to his word, the twisting motion was simple enough to grasp. 

“Don’t forget that,” he said approvingly. “Could save your life one day.” 

“I’ll take that under advisement.” 

* * *

Lazulis wished to spar with the man once more before the time she’d devoted to training ran out for the morning, but luck was not with her. A messenger arrived to notify Lazulis of a last minute trade meeting. Edmund bowed to her with gratitude for the honour of sparring and made a comment about attending to his own duties. 

“I have not dismissed you,” she told him, but only after he’d returned his sword to the weapons stand. She stood between Edmund and the training yard’s entrance, expecting he would take that route to depart rather than climb the wall a second time. One of her guards had moved between Edmund and the weapons, the other approaching from the left. 

Edmund noticed the guards, of course. The whole time, his body language had suggested an ongoing awareness of the two men--the sort of awareness most lesser ministers would not exhibit. 

But then, she had already known he was not a minister.

“I remember you from more than the courtyard,” Lazulis said. 

Edmund’s face shuttered as he realized what she meant, his hand sliding to the left pocket of his robe. Her guards closed in upon him, prepared to wrestle away whatever blade he withdrew, and Lazulis threw the Inescapable Word at him like a weapon. Edmund spun away too slow, shuddering as the force of the Word’s constraints settled upon him, and practically fell against the nearest guard. If he truly planned to pull out a hidden knife, this would be the moment--but instead, he froze in place as soon as the first hand fell upon his shoulder. 

“You’ve vanished too easily in the past,” she told him. “I thought it might take a strong Word to overwhelm your own power and keep you here.” 

Still, he did not move. His shoulders were tense, the muscles jumping in his arms. For the first time since he’d entered the training yard, he appeared ill at ease. In a strangled voice, Edmund said, “And that certainly was a strong Word.” 

To the guards, she said, “Put him in a cell. My father the Emperor will be pleased to know we’ve caught our spy.”

He resisted the guards’ efforts to pull him away, turning back around to face Lazulis. “You think I’m a spy?” 

“Tell me you’re not.”

“Would you believe me?” He shrugged, the movement doing nothing to displace the heavy gloved hands on his shoulders. “A spy answers to a master. I answer only to myself.” 

“Not my sister? I know she conspires against me. I know how she seeks to undermine me now, so she can steal my inheritance later.” 

Edmund stiffened. “I would not serve Jadis Ama Charni for anything, your highness.” 

Interesting--but Lazulis had already suspected he answered to a more distant master.

“Your own king, then?” 

His gaze grew shifted. “Once,” he said, “But the king above me is gone, now. And my god no longer speaks to me.” 

Here in the Empire, they worshipped no gods. Only the Powers deserved such respect and reverence. A handful of the independent countries still followed the old gods but Lazulis could think of none of those that had lost their king in recent years. 

She filed this puzzle away for later. “You’re saying you steal into the Emperor’s palace on your own whim? Why?” 

Edmund tipped his chin towards the sword in her hand. “To spar with the crown princess?” 

She waited. One of the guards squeezed down hard on Edmund’s shoulder and he winced, not from pain but irritation. “There are things I needed to see for myself. To understand, I suppose.” 

“Understand what?” 

“Respectfully, your highness, I cannot explain. I also cannot stay.” And before any of them could react, he’d twisted out of both guards’ grip in a graceful maneuver.

And then he vanished from sight. 

Whatever Word he used, Lazulis did not hear it. The Power of it was even greater than she’d imagined; few Words could break the magical hold she’d placed upon him. She had been foolish to let him draw her into a conversation out in the open, rather than ensuring he was trapped beneath the layered Words of a cell. And she had been foolish to ask her questions without invoking even a Discernable Word to distinguish the truth from lies. His answers had sounded entirely sincere, but that could just mean the man was a very good liar. 

Of one thing, though, she was absolutely certain: he’d lied about having no master. 


	4. Charn, 1137

**CHARN, 1137**

The night was hot, the palace aglow. Music swirled through the air. And in a little alcove just off the main ballroom, Lazulis thought she might be sick. 

An officer of the imperial army stood before her, his face creased with concern. He’d come to her straight-away with the news, still dressed in a uniform that smelled of horse when he’d found her at the side of the dance floor. “I must speak with you immediately, your highness,” he’d said, “It’s important.” 

He’d been right. 

Mingling with the music was the general laughter and jollity of any royal festivity, but this felt more false than the balls of her youth. The underlying tension that saturated the palace could not be pushed back by a single night of revelry. Every guest in attendance was still all too aware of the war across the continent. 

Lazulis stepped forward to see around the corner to the balcony where her mother the Empress sat serene under the attentions of her ladies. With eyes half closed and arms folded over her opulent robes, the Empress really did look like the Mother of the People watching her children play in the ballroom below. The seat beside her was empty.

Lazulis took a deep breath. “Thank you for bringing me this news,” she told the officer, and was impressed by how steady her voice sounded. “Find me General Akser, and the captain of the guard. Quickly.”

The man bowed and was gone. Lazulis glanced once more to the balcony but decided against approaching her mother. After all, the Empress had her own spies within the imperial army; she would know the news soon enough. But every extra minute that Lazulis could keep the development a secret meant an extra minute that she could manipulate the situation to her liking without interference. 

General Akser, she knew, had always been loyal to her. The captain of the guard would follow her orders. Both would support her claim to the throne, even when her sister inevitably tried to take control. So long as she moved fast, Lazulis could--

The orchestral music screeched to a halt. From the center of the dance floor, someone screamed. And across the ballroom, a voice echoed: “The Emperor of Charn is dead! I am Jadis Ama Charni, daughter of our Emperor. I am declaring under the authority of the Powers themselves that the throne is mine!” 

* * *

When Edmund materialised in a deserted hall of the Charn palace, his hands were shaking. It took him three tries to slide the ring back into the appropriate pocket. He could still smell the metallic smoke of battle, could still hear the screams of terror as the world barrelled towards its death--

_ No. _ He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, trying to focus. The screams weren’t lingering in his memory--he was hearing them, here and now, only a short distance away. He’d travelled back six years before the end of Charn and failed to escape the war. 

He wanted to leave, except he’d just fled another conflict and couldn’t do so again. It didn’t matter that all these people would be dead in six years; they were suffering now, and he couldn’t let that happen without at least  _ trying _ to help. 

The large hunting knife was still secure in his belt. Edmund paused just long enough to retrieve the second knife from his pack. Then, armed with both blades, he sprinted down the hall.

He was aware only of the vaguest impressions of his surroundings as he ran: towering ceilings inlaid with mosaics--slick marble floors that shone in the green candlelight--towering stone statues guarding every archway--everything as decadent as the Tisroc’s palace in long-lost Calormen. Twice, he passed people fleeing the source of the screams: the first were a trio of nobles, the second a handful of servants. Only a single man in the bunch even noticed Edmund, treating him to a look of such shocked disbelief that he may as well have outright said  _ you must be mad to go in there.  _

Edmund just tightened the grip on his knives and kept running.

* * *

The ball had turned into a bloodbath. Jadis’s supporters were slaughtering anyone who tried to resist, and a good many others as well. Lazulis crouched low in her alcove, protected for the time being by her Surreptitious Word but knowing it would not hold up to her sister’s magical scrutiny once she stepped back into the ballroom itself. 

And yet, there was no other option for escape, and the supporters were already beginning to systematically search along the edges of the huge room. She needed to leave, and she needed to do so now. 

She steeled her nerves and crept forward again to peer from her alcove to the nearest arching doors. Her sister had posted an insurgent at every exit, but Lazulis thought she could take the man down if she could just get to him. He’d be protected from any magical attack by the same Shielding Word that had been placed over all the insurgents; Lazulis just hoped the Word applied  _ only _ to magical attacks. 

She took a breath and stood up. Trusting her Surreptitious Word to at least delay the moment of discovery, Lazulis slid out from her alcove and began the ten step journey towards the door. 

* * *

Edmund rounded the last corner just as the doors to the ballroom crashed open. Two people tumbled out into the hall, wrestling for control of a single sword. Behind them, a chillingly familiar voice screeched: “Bring her to me!” 

In the time it took Edmund to close the distance, the woman before him had gained control of the sword. She knocked her opponent to the ground with its hilt and began to dash away. By the time she’d swung her attention to the hall ahead of her, she’d almost reached Edmund. 

“You!” she gasped, just as Edmund realized that he recognized this woman from his brief trip to Charn’s end. She was the one who’d led her troops through the capital, who’d climbed the steps outside the palace, who’d pointed her sword at Jadis and declared victory--

_ She’s dead, _ said the memory, except she wasn’t. Not now, in this hall. She was bright-eyed with shock, panting with fear, staring with wary anticipation--and she was very alive. 

Later, he would wonder why he acted. Did he move to her defense due to his ingrained training as a knight, acting to save a stranger’s life without stopping to question whether it was necessary? Certainly, if he’d had half a second to think things through, Edmund would have realized that the future served as proof that the woman would survive the night. But there hadn’t been time to think; there was time only for instinct and reflex, block and parry, and the growing awareness that his two knives would not last much longer against his opponents’ swords. 

The woman had chosen to fight alongside him rather than flee, and he would wonder about that as well. For now, it was enough to see her stolen sword flashing at his side, until a distinctive twist of her wrist sent a foe’s blade skidding across the floor. 

Edmund knew that move. And that was enough of a sign for him in this blurred moment of instinct. He sliced wildly with his left blade, buried the other in the stomach of his current opponent, and hooked a foot behind the man’s knee to send him crashing backwards to the floor. Before the next attacker could leap forward, Edmund thrust his knife into his belt and grabbed the woman with one hand just before sticking the other into his pocket. 

A knife flew towards him, but Charn was already washing away. The blade sliced through his incorporeal form, and Edmund tightened his hand around the woman’s arm reflexively. It was only occurring to him now that he’d chosen to pull Jadis’s sister to the Wood, as if he hadn’t learned anything from the Professor’s story. Just because this woman opposed Jadis, it didn’t mean she was any better of a person. 

And so, even as he felt the buoyant force of the ring push him up towards the Wood, Edmund released the yellow ring and reached across his body to his other pocket. Gravity gripped his feet, pulling him back down to Charn. The world began to take shape beneath him again, as if he were flying down to it from the heavens. The palace roof grew beneath his feet, but it would do no good to return to the danger they’d just left. When Edmund focused on the city streets beyond the palace, the world tilted below him until his feet were aimed towards an alley instead. He’d used this same method to control the  _ when _ of his destination each time he travelled as well--and maybe it would have been smart to land a few days beyond Jadis’s coup, but he did not yet trust his accuracy in locating a temporal target. Better not to spook the woman he’d saved by carrying her years into the future as well as outside the palace. 

Colour bleached back into their surroundings as their feet touched down on the cobblestones, and then the magic released them. Edmund had barely been aware of his companion as they flew between the worlds but, the instant they landed, she wrenched her arm away. “What in the holy Powers was  _ that?” _

Edmund let the green ring fall back into the depths of his right pocket before lifting both hands soothingly. “Apologies. There wasn’t really an opportunity to ask.” 

“Ask  _ what? _ ” She was backing away, which he thought was a wise move on her part. “What sort of Word was that?” 

He had no idea what word she was referring to. Did they not apologize in this world? Whatever the case, he wasn’t going to stay to find out. He’d already interfered more than he’d ever intended. Better to disappear before he started causing problems. “Good luck,” he told her. 

Her furious confusion dropped away. “No, wait--”

But she was too late. Edmund already had hold of his yellow ring again. Once again, Charn smeared from view as he travelled back to the Wood. But along with the relief that surged through his chest was that same seed of curiousity that had sparked the trip in the first place. Maybe he’d make one more visit, farther into the past, when Jadis and her sister were only children.


	5. England, 1952

**ENGLAND, 1952**

Three weeks after her brother had taken off on his harebrained errand, Susan spotted him lurking on the street outside the bank. He was waiting beneath a lamppost, skimming through a newspaper, glancing up just a little too often at the building’s entrance to truly pass as subtle. 

The fact that she’d seen him at all meant Edmund had wanted to be seen. So Susan excused herself for an early lunch and strolled outside to meet him. As soon as she began to cross the street, Edmund straightened. By the time she reached his side, he’d already squirrelled the folded newspaper into his pocket. 

“I’m going to take a stab in the dark,” she said, following their usual habit of skipping the greetings, “You’ve gone and returned, and now you’re debating going back again.” 

He snorted. “You know me too well. Walk? Or do you need to get back inside? I can come back when you’re done.” 

“You’re here now.” 

Together, they began strolling along the street in the general direction of the park where they’d last spoken. Edmund was silent for a minute, eyes trailing over the buildings and people around them as they walked. At last, he said, “I always forget how different England seems after returning from another world.” 

She knew what he meant. Different architecture, different fashion, different behaviours. To be fair, Susan had less experience than her brother on the matter: she’d only returned from Narnia twice, and from the Wood once. The discovery of the rings hadn’t changed her decision to build a life in this world. But she still remembered the culture shock of each return trip, and how she’d needed to readjust her mindset each time. 

She also knew that this was Edmund’s way of indicating he was ready to speak. Obligingly, she asked, “How was Charn different?” 

His eyes narrowed. “It was like Calormen, not in style but in opulence. Everything in that palace was dripping wealth. It was humbling… but not exactly in a nice way.” 

“Did you see her?” 

He swallowed, and moved to stick his hands in the pockets of his coat before remembering himself and tucking them behind his back instead. “From a distance, right before she spoke the Word.” 

It sounded to her as though he’d come much too close to getting wiped out by that Deplorable Word, but Susan knew better than to say this aloud. Her brother would already be well aware, and it would do no good for her to point this out after the danger had already passed. 

“I went back further,” he continued, “and almost managed to get stabbed for my trouble. Made me wonder if these rings really are cursed--or if there’s something else at work within them. Something that pulled me to the important events.” 

“Important how?” 

“I saved the sister’s life. I think.” When he looked to Susan, there was a question in his eyes: a younger brother seeking her approval. “She had to have survived the coup somehow, if she made it to the end of the world. Maybe I made it easier. Or maybe I’d always been a part of it?” 

Was this what was bothering him? Carefully, Susan said, “I can’t see how saving her could have been a bad thing.” 

He released a breath. “I hope you’re right. It’s done now, anyway.” 

“Is it?” 

Edmund glanced over again, suspicious. 

“You don’t sound satisfied to me, Ed.” 

Again, he sighed. “I was afraid--afraid maybe she was just as bad as Jadis. What if their whole war was two evil sisters battling for dominance? What if I’d left her to the mercy of those attackers and she’d been slain, and the world didn’t end after all?” 

“False question, Ed. You already knew going in that the world would end. You literally just said it yourself: she had to have survived with or without your help.” 

“I’m just saying that’s what was going through my head when I went back again.” 

Susan halted. “A third time?” 

“I found her as a child.” 

“What on Earth for?” 

“Not on Earth,” he corrected with his most annoying grin. “I guess I thought--I thought I’d see what she was like when she was young and--” 

“And see if she was worth saving?” 

Edmund shrugged. 

With a sigh, Susan resumed walking. “And was she?” 

Very quietly, Edmund said, “I think she is.” 

_ Ah. _ And therein lay the issue. “You want to go help.” 

“Yes.” 

“Even though you know for an absolute fact that this is a hopeless cause in which everyone--literally  _ everyone _ \--will end up dead. Including yourself, if you’re not careful.” 

He grimaced. “I think I have to. Don’t ask me to explain, I don’t know why.” 

She lifted a single eyebrow and asked knowingly, “Don’t you?” 

Edmund stared at her and then made another face. Susan laughed. “Go help her, then. And take my blessing, whatever good that may be these days. But not quite yet. Visit with me a little longer. I need to grab lunch.”

“And I need a coffee.” 


	6. Charn, 1139

**CHARN, 1139**

The Yawning Butcher was a sad little inn on the outskirts of a town three days’ travel from the capital. Leaning to the left, with great heavy icicles hanging from every eave, the building looked as though it might collapse in a strong wind. But though neither beer nor food were particularly tasteful, the inn saw its fair share of visitors passing through the common room each week--and though there were nights when the music grew loud and the storm shuddered the windows, the roof hadn’t caved in yet. 

Lazulis did not often venture up to the common room. The cellar beneath the building was her kingdom: the majority of this a storeroom with casks and crates to serve as tables and chairs, and a tiny hidden room behind a shelf for her personal living quarters. She’d spent plenty of nights over the past year and a half listening to the sounds overhead, comparing this cold and shabby space to the gilded trappings of her former palatial life. Mavin and Helbett told her not to dwell on it, to save her energy for strategizing, but Lazulis didn’t listen. The more she thought of what her sister had stolen, the angrier she became. And the angrier she was, the easier it was to keep going. 

At least not every night was lonely. On this particular evening, the cellar storeroom was crammed with bodies. Five leaders of the local resistance cells had come visiting: Mavin, who’d found Lazulis in the streets of Charn and brought her to the resistance; Helbett, owner of the Yawning Butcher, who’d been willing to risk the wrath of Jadis on the chance that Lazulis’s aid might turn the tide; Revi and Reed, who’d been fighting to free the people of Charn since before Lazulis was even born; and Banyr, who hadn’t stopped glaring at her since he’d first climbed down the steps. 

They’d been debating supply caravan attack strategies for over an hour when Helbett raised her head and told everyone to shut up. It took Lazulis a moment to catch the difference in the sounds upstairs, now rougher and more hostile than usual. There was a sudden pause as the accordion cut off abruptly--Lazulis fingered the hilt of her dagger, and noticed the others reaching for their own weapons--and then the trap door shook as someone stomped out the password.

Even so, no one eased entirely as the door slid open and Reed’s second popped his head down. “Caught us a spy.” 

_ Damn the Powers,  _ and _ damn Jadis.  _ Lazulis had been staying with Helbett because she was the only leader of the five local cells who they’d believed wasn’t surveilled by Jadis’s people. But if spies were lurking around the Yawning Butcher, it meant the location was compromised and their sources had been fed incorrect information. 

“Send him down,” growled Reed. “We’ll find out what he knows.” 

The second withdrew, reappearing with his bound and roughed-up prisoner. The spy was manhandled down the stairs and thrown to the ground at Reed’s feet. Helbett shouted to someone above and the trap door slid closed again as the music in the common room started up again. 

“Not a very good spy,” Revi commented, “to get caught by your targets. Jadis sending out amateurs, now?” 

“Give us your name,” demanded Reed, “and maybe we’ll be more lenient to you than your mistress will be when she finds out you slipped up.” 

“I didn’t slip up,” said the spy, spitting a wad of blood on the floor before lifting his head defiantly. “I came looking for Jadis’s sister, and here she is.” 

Lazulis’s blood ran cold. All five of the resistance leaders turned to her, either in question or in accusation, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the spy. “It’s you.” 

“Me,” he agreed with the beginnings of a grin. 

Banyr looked furious. “You know this man?” 

_ Know _ him? Hardly. “He saved my life, the night Jadis took control. He’s the one who got me out of the palace. I haven’t seen him since. He calls himself Edmund.” 

“Edmund Ama Anywhere,” said the man, clearly refusing to accept the gravity of the situation. 

Lazulis was not amused. “So you’ve said. But where are you  _ actually _ from?” 

“Nowhere you’d know.” He let his gaze wander across the others and she wondered just how much information this man, this  _ spy _ was able to pick up from a single look around the room. “I’ve come to offer my services to your fight.” 

“Our fight,” repeated Reed. “Just what do you think you know about our fight?” 

And just like that, the man turned serious. “You oppose Jadis, and rightly so. I’ve seen firsthand what she can do. Whatever I can do to ease the suffering she causes, I will do it.” 

He made his grievance with Jadis sound more personal than Lazulis had believed. She remembered asking him what master he served, and her utter certainty that he had lied by omission when he’d claimed neither king nor god. Had this master sent him here to offer his services? Or had he chosen to do so on his own? 

“I don’t trust him,” said Banyr, unsurprisingly. 

But then, Lazulis didn’t know if she trusted Edmund either. There were too many mysteries about the man to simply accept his word when he appeared out of the blue on the doorstep of this secret location. “Question him,” she told Reed, “Thoroughly. I have no idea who he is or what he really wants.” 

Edmund’s eyes sharpened. “I did save you,” he pointed out. 

Lazulis raised her brow. “Why?” 

“You needed saving.” 

Helbett crossed her arms. “Don’t you worry,” she said to Lazulis, “We’ll get the truth out of this one, easy enough.” 

* * *

They did not get the truth from Edmund Ama Anywhere, not until Revi had placed three Credible Words upon him. It was not that the man had been lying--that would have been impossible under even a single Word--but he was startlingly adept at skirting the truth. 

At first, Lazulis was afraid he was trying to obscure a connection to her sister--but regarding Jadis, the man was all too honest about his opinions. Still, he refused to explain his hatred until the force of all three combined Words forced the confession from him. 

He’d been moved to a second floor room of the inn by this time. Reed and Revi had been interrogating him while the others waited downstairs. The hour had gone from late to early, the common room gradually clearing until it was only top resistance members left. “We’re not leaving,” Mavin had said, “until we know what he knows.” 

Lazulis had been too anxious to wait alone in the cellar. If Edmund had intended to bring down her sister’s forces upon the inn, it would have happened already--or so she argued to Helbett. She spent the time in the common room with the others, playing half-hearted rounds of cards and listening to the reports every time Reed and Revi traded off. 

At last, Revi came and sat heavily upon the bench. “I don’t know what to think,” he told them. “Either the truth’s a lot stranger than I could have imagined, or that man has an unbelievably powerful Deceptive Word shielding him from our efforts.” 

“He does have strange power,” Lazulis reminded him. “I’ve never seen its like anywhere else.” 

Revi shook his head slowly, saying, “I don’t think he’s lying.” He rubbed his face and then added, “I think we can trust him.” 

“Just like that?” asked Mavin. “You gonna tell us what he said?” 

“No,” said Revi after a beat. “No, I don’t think so. The fewer who know about him, the safer his secrets.” 

Mavin was not satisfied. “Are they secrets we can use?” 

And Lazulis remembered again the times he’d vanished before her eyes, and the inexplicable magic he’d used to pull her from the castle during Jadis’s coup. If there was any power that could give them an advantage in the fight against her sister, it would be those secret Words that belonged to Edmund Ama Anywhere. 


	7. Charn, 1142

**CHARN, 1142**

Edmund returned to the rebellion’s camp late that night, when the twin moons were already high overhead. Only a single sentry saw him, but a quick exchange of pass-phrases were all it took before Kaj let him on his way. 

Usually, Edmund would go straight to Reed’s tent to report on any information he gleaned from his latest mission. Instead, he took the path to the left. His destination looked like any other tent in the camp, except it was the only one still lit from within. He paused at the entrance to call out softly, and entered when invited. 

Lazulis was kneeling on the rug, oiling her sword. The sight made Edmund grin, and he told her, “We just had our first duel.” 

She looked up, interested. “In the training yard? That was now?” She shook her head. “You went then?”

“Yes, and you might have warned me.” 

Lazulis pointed a finger up at him. “You’re the one who told me not to. Events happen for a reason, you said. And knowing what hasn’t happened yet could interfere with--” 

“I thought you were going to run me through!” 

“No, you didn’t.” She opened her hand, inviting him forward. 

Edmund joined her on the rug, running a finger along her arm. Her skin was warm and soft, and a smile played at the corner of her mouth as he traced a path over her shoulder and along her collarbone. She continued cleaning her sword, eyes occasionally flicking slyly towards him. The firelight danced in her irises. 

At last, she leaned away to retrieve the sheath that lay upon her bed. The steel blade glistened as she slid it away. Carefully, she set the weapon down on the rug and, only then, tipped her head to meet his lips. She tasted of salt and smoke.

When Edmund pulled back, she cupped his chin gently and studied his face. “You’ve smeared your kohl,” she said, musingly. “I remember you doing so.” She wiped at the corner of his eye with her thumb and nodded in satisfaction. “Better.” 

“Thank you,” said Edmund, lifting himself to her mouth again. 

This time, Lazulis was the one to pull away first. “Do you remember what I asked you?” 

“It did just happen for me,” he pointed out. He didn’t mean to be vague, really; it was simply habit by now to avoid direct answers when discussing his trips through time. 

Lazulis knew this. “I asked who you served, and you told me you had no king and no god.” 

“This is true.” 

“I know it is.” 

“I serve a queen,” he said, leaning forward. His voice dropped. “I serve an empress.” 

She did not lean away. “I’m hardly an empress. An heir once, maybe.” 

He was close enough to brush her lips with his own as he whispered, “You’re  _ my _ empress.” 

To this, Lazulis did not disagree. She was otherwise occupied. 

* * *

She woke to tangled sheets and the light of the dawn warming her tent. Edmund was already awake, his back to her as he pulled on his clothes. Still caught halfway between waking and dreaming, Lazulis watched him move quietly about the space until he bent down to retrieve his boots. Softly, she asked, “How do you do it? What Word sends you skipping through time?” 

He hesitated briefly before turning to her. “Sorry. I tried not to wake you.” 

“I asked you a question.” 

For a moment, she thought he’d continue to ignore her. Edmund picked up his boots and sat on the stool by the tent flap. “It’s not a Word.” 

Lazulis sat up. Edmund stared down at the boot in his hands, not bothering to pull it on. She knew he was trying to order his thoughts, and prompted him, “Edmund Ama Anywhere. I’ve asked you before where you come from. Perhaps the question is when?” 

This startled a laugh out of him. “Both when and where,” he admitted. “Since I’ve joined your cause, you’ve never asked me any of this. Why now?” 

“I was dreaming. I swam across an ocean, looking for you, but when I reached the far shore there was only myself. My younger self, I mean. I’d gone back into my own past. But when I tried to warn her, I found I could say nothing at all.” 

Edmund clasped his fingers together, his attention once more fixed upon his boots. 

“Is it true, what you’ve told me about travelling through time? Are you really an observer only? Can the past not be changed at all?” 

“What is the past?” he asked her. “Wherever I go, that is the present. I have no idea whether I’m changing anything. It could be that every little thing I will do has already been done. But I have to try.” 

“Why?”

He let out a long breath. “Even if I can’t do anything about where we end up, maybe I make the journey to that future easier for you. If I can save you even the smallest amount of pain, it will be worth it.” He shrugged. “But maybe it means nothing at all, me being here.”

Lazulis rose from the bed to kneel before him. “Edmund,” she said, “It means everything.”

* * *

He did not explain it all to her at once. There was too much, he said. Lazulis did not know whether he meant  _ too much to understand _ or  _ too much to explain _ . Possibly, he meant both. But the door to his secrets had been unlatched. If she asked a question, he answered it properly. 

_ You’re from the future?  _ she asked, and he said,  _ Yes.  _

_ What’s it like? _ she asked, and he said,  _ There’s no one left.  _

_ Except for you, _ she said, and he told her,  _ I come from someplace else.  _

_ Where? _ she asked, and he said,  _ Another world. _

And he showed her the rings, and he told her the stories that had shaped his life: the war he’d escaped as a child, the country he’d ruled with his siblings, and the tragedy that took most of that family from him. 

His face was dark. “I should have died, too. I should have.” 

“Don’t say that.” 

“It’s true. I was right there beside Peter. The train would have crashed right into me.” 

She still didn’t understand what a train even was, but that was a question for another day. “What happened?” 

“I was the one carrying the rings. I had them in an Altoids tin of all things--” 

“A what?” 

“Doesn’t matter. They were in a tin in my pocket. It couldn’t have opened. And then there was a scream of metal and I thought the train was coming into the station too fast. I stuck my hand in my pocket--I don’t know why, I wasn’t exactly  _ thinking _ \--and there was an extra ring in there. It wasn’t inside the tin at all--the tin hadn’t even opened. But there was a ring outside the tin, loose in my pocket, and I touched it. And just like that, the whole train station faded away.” 

“Because of a loose ring?” 

“An  _ extra _ ring. I counted them later, just to be sure. When Peter and I dug up the rings to begin with, there were four pairs exactly. But ever since that moment in the train station, there was an  _ extra yellow ring. _ And I’ve never known why.” 

“You’re saying you didn’t even try to escape the crash.” 

“If I’d tried,” he said bitterly, “I’d have reached for Peter with my other hand. Maybe I could have saved him, at least.” 

* * *

“I’ve already been there,” Edmund told her one night, after a strategy meeting run late. The fire burned low in the hearth and the shadows of the room hid his face. 

At first, Lazulis did not understand. “Been where?” 

“You know that I came to Charn from another world.”

His voice was heavier than she’d ever heard it before, and Lazulis was struck by an intense fear. “You said you came from a future where my sister had gone irredeemably bad, and you came to see why.” And when he came and he saw, Edmund had chosen to stay and fight alongside Lazulis. 

“The first time you saw me, you were eight years old. That wasn’t the first time I saw you.” 

Lazulis had guessed as much. By now, she’d sent him hopping throughout the past in order to spy upon Jadis and her conspirators as they’d first concocted their plans to gain control of the empire. It made sense that he had gone back a little bit too far and found her younger self in the courtyard that night. She just didn’t know whether he’d done so on purpose. 

“When I arrived in Charn, the city was burning. Blood on the streets, smoke in the air. Screaming. Fighting. I’d entered a warzone.”

None of their skirmishes against her sister had even come near to the city yet. 

“Buildings were exploding. I could hardly even see, could hardly breathe. I should have left--” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“I don’t know. It wasn’t my war, I hadn’t come to fight. But I couldn’t leave. I wandered the streets, defending myself when necessary--I have no idea which side I was even fighting. Maybe both.” He took a long breath. “I reached the main road. There was a whole battalion ahead of me, breaking down the gates to the palace. As they poured inside the grounds, I followed them and I saw--you, racing up the steps. And your sister, standing at the top of them, her hands raised in surrender.” 

“We win?” 

The fire cracked loudly, sending a burst of sparks up to the ceiling.

“‘Victory!’ you shouted, and all the soldiers behind you raised their weapons and cheered. Except I knew--I already knew what happened next.”

“You said you didn’t. You told me you only knew Jadis came from this world.” 

“I lied.” He raised his head so she could see the pain etched across his face. “She bragged about it. A trusted friend of mine spoke to her once, and later told me exactly what she said had happened. And when I was king in the land she went to, the land she had ruled before I got there, I found multiple accounts of her history. She was proud of it. She wanted everyone to know what she had done.” 

Lazulis felt as though her insides had turned to ice. “What will she do?” 

“You’ll follow her up the steps, and you’ll shout your victory,” he repeated. “And she’ll look you in the eye and say, ‘Yes, victory--but not for you.’” His eyes fell closed. “And then she will speak a Word that destroys everyone.” 

“Everyone except for her… and you.” 

“I left. I knew what was coming. If I stayed, I died. So I left. And that’s when I travelled back farther to find you.” 

Lazulis did not know what to say. She didn’t even know what she felt. It was all too much to comprehend. 

“I don’t know what you want me to do with this,” she said at last. 

“Neither do I,” Edmund admitted. “But I couldn’t lie to you any longer.” 

“I can’t stop fighting.” 

“I know.” 

“Perhaps it will be different this time.” 

“Perhaps,” he agreed, though his expression said otherwise. 


	8. Charn, 1144

**CHARN, 1144**

For three days, battle had raged across the city. The east district had been in flames since dawn, the boulevards ran red with blood, and a vicious smoke hung low over all the buildings. The air was polluted with the magic both armies employed. Lazulis crouched in the shelter of a little alley just off the main street, trying not to be sick. She’d been leading the rebellion’s soldiers for hours, ever since Reed had fallen to a poisoned sword while taking the last bridge before the palace. But only now, hunched in the shadows to catch her breath, did it occur to her that he was gone. 

The whole time the rebellion had been gaining ground through the city, Jadis had been watching from the steps of the palace. There wasn’t any real reason for her to stand there; she could direct her armies from any number of locations, but that wasn’t the point. Jadis was taunting Lazulis.  _ Here I am, _ she was saying.  _ Come and get me, if you can. _

Gravel crunched behind her and Lazulis jerked around, only to ease at the sight of Edmund. He took her hand, letting her cling to him until she’d breathed through the worst of the nausea. “We’re almost there,” she told him. “Once we take the gate, we’ll overwhelm the last of her forces. We can still win.” 

He did not argue, though he couldn’t completely hide his doubt. Lazulis glanced up to the thick clouds and added, “You can leave.” 

“Is this an order?” 

“This isn’t your world, Edmund. I won’t force to you to continue, not if there’s a chance she’ll destroy everything.” 

He squeezed her hand. “I’m not leaving yet.” 

Lazulis let her eyes fall to him. Edmund was watching her gently, his mouth tilted up in one corner as if he were amused that she would even try to send him away. She leaned forward to brush his lips with a kiss, and then pressed her forehead to his. 

“Just in case,” said Edmund, “I need to show you something.” 

He rocked back on his heels, pulling a glove over his left hand before lifting a modest yellow ring from his robe. The thing hummed with the same power Lazulis had sensed around Edmund whenever he used his strange, Wordless magic. She started to reach out to it but he pulled the ring away with a soft caution. 

‘If we reach the end and there’s no hope left,” he instructed, “touch this ring to your bare skin and it will take you from this world.” 

“To your home?” 

“I don’t know what home is anymore.” He slid the ring into the small chest pocket of her robe. “Charn is as much my home now as any other place.” 

“Edmund Ama Anywhere,” she agreed. 

“Lazulis Ama Charni,” he responded softly. 

When they left the alley to storm the palace, Lazulis could feel the little yellow ring resting comfortably in its pocket above her heart. 

* * *

For just an instant, as Lazulis stood aside for her forces to break down the palace gates, she looked back out over her city. She saw the burning districts, the dead soldiers, the ravaged parkways. Looking farther out, beyond the city, Lazulis could see the muddy battlefields where her forces had held the city in seige for weeks; once, those fields had been a deep, verdant green.

The palace gate cracked behind her, and Lazulis drew her attention back. As she turned, she thought she saw a man at the other end of the plaza. The smoke obscured her view of him, but she could still make out the strange coat he wore beneath a limp brown cloak. 

She looked away. 

* * *

Jadis was still waiting at the top of the palace steps, just as Edmund had seen the first time he’d come to the world’s end. He was closer this time, though the fighting had driven him back from Lazulis as she led her troops upward to their doom. Farther behind him and all the rest of their battalion, at the base of the steps just inside the gates, his past self was watching. 

When he looked past Lazulis to her sister, he could see the fury that flushed Jadis’s face white. Edmund remembered, with stark and sudden clarity, the first time he’d seen that face in the midst of a snowy wood: the haughty anger that flashed through her eyes before she hid it away behind a mask of poisoned sympathy.

_ One day, _ he thought,  _ you  _ will _ get what you deserve. _

As for right now? Jadis’s forces had been overwhelmed. She’d lost the war. There was nothing left for her, not in this world. Lazulis continued storming upward, her sword held high in triumph. He knew what she was trying to do, for they’d discussed it often enough: the possibility that, armed with the knowledge of the future, Lazulis could run up those steps just a little bit faster and kill her sister before Jadis had a chance to speak the final word. 

He’d wanted to be at Lazulis’s side now, close enough to touch her arm and carry her away if she couldn’t reach Jadis fast enough. He hadn’t intended to have been driven so far back. But all he could do now was sprint after her as the distance between the two sisters closed.

_ Don’t say anything, _ he prayed,  _ Just kill Jadis now. _

But Lazulis had been caught up in the moment, or perhaps caught up by fate, for she cried out: “Victory!” 

The troops below cheered, their joy a hoarse roar in Edmund’s ears. His legs burned from racing up the stairs but he did not stop running. 

Above him, Jadis sneered.

“Victory,” she spat at her older sister, who was still too far down the steps, “but not--” 

Lazulis dropped her sword. Was it fear that loosened her grip, or the realization that she’d failed?

“--for--” 

Edmund knew in that moment that he would not reach Lazulis in time. He screamed his empress’s name.

“--you.” 

Her sword landed on the marble steps. It bounced once, spinning as it fell to the step below. The blade passed directly through Lazulis’s fading form. Her hand, Edmund realized, was buried in the chest pocket of her robe.

Jadis drew in one more breath.

Edmund jammed his hand deep into his own pocket. The waters of the Wood rose up around him--

And Charn was gone. 


	9. The Wood Between the Worlds, ∞

**THE WOOD BETWEEN THE WORLDS,** **∞**

Between the worlds, there was a wood: green, peaceful, and quiet. The sky was a leafy canopy, the air a gentle perfume. Spread among the trees were small hollows in the ground, each filled with still, clear water; between these pools grew a soft carpet of grass. 

Beside one of these pools, a woman slept. Though she carried the scars of war both on her skin and in her heart, the creases on her face had finally begun to ease. She twitched once, an involuntary response to harsh dreams of harsher memories, but the grass cradled her and the trees sang to her. Gradually, she relaxed again.

Not far away, a man waited. He also had been worn down by long battles and hard losses, but he did not let his eyes close. He was watching over the sleeping woman, despite knowing their enemies could not follow them into this refuge. On the ground before him lay a red handkerchief, and on the handkerchief lay three of rings; the hum of their magic harmonized with the wider wood. 

This was the tableau that Susan found when she stepped from the Earth pool. Earth and Charn had always been neighbours, and only a short distance separated her from the others. Standing at the edge of her pool, she carefully returned her yellow ring to its proper pocket before approaching her brother. 

“You’re older,” she said. 

“So are you,” responded Edmund, even though he’d managed to gain many more years than her since they’d parted. 

She sat cross legged on the grass where she could see both Edmund and the sleeping woman. From her coat, Susan pulled out a thermos of coffee that she passed to her brother. He unscrewed the lid eagerly, inhaling the steam with delight. “You have no idea how much I needed some coffee,” he told her. 

“If I had no idea,” she retorted, “I wouldn’t have brought it.” 

She could see how her brother watched the woman even as he drank from the thermos, like there was nothing and no one else worth his attention. Susan noted her black hair and fox-like features, comparing it to the villainous queen from her childhood. “Is this her?” 

“Her name is Lazulis.” He leaned forward to the woman, reaching over the handkerchief and its rings to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. At the touch, the woman stirred but did not wake. 

“The sister Jadis killed.” 

He leaned back and finally lifted his eyes to Susan. Ever since the train wreck, she had seen pain warring with his resolve; now, she thought, something had settled within him. 

“You saved her,” said Susan, and it was not a question. She held out her hand and Edmund took it. And for a long time, they sat silently beneath the trees.

“Come home,” she said at last. “I’ve missed you.” 

Edmund looked from her to the two identical pools before him and said, “I don’t even know what home is anymore.” 

“Yes, you do,” said Susan. “I am your home. So is she.” With her gloved hand, Susan dropped added another pair of rings to the handkerchief and nodded to Lazulis before rising to her feet. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

* * *

Lazulis awoke gradually. At first, her mind wandered loose and free, untethered to any sense of self. There was only the serenity of the wood growing around her, along with the comfort of knowing she was not alone. When she opened her eyes, Lazulis could see the reflection of the green canopy in the pool’s still waters. Beyond it was another pool with a little sign-post hammered into the earth. Though she did not recognize the four letters carved into the wood, their meaning was clear. 

_ HOME. _

Not her home, though. Lazulis knew she’d come from the closer pool, the one she lay beside. Along with this awareness came the memories of Charn: stone citadels under a rouge sky, the prick of a snowflake on her tongue, the screams of a passionate people who’d been suppressed for too long. The power of Words coursing through her body. The despair of fighting a war she knew she’d lose. 

Lazulis remembered who she was and all she’d lost, and she wept silently into the green grass.

* * *

When there were no more tears left, Lazulis sat up. Edmund was waiting for her, quiet and patient. Between them lay a cloth with the rings; she looked at them but, for the first time, did not feel enticed by their hum. 

“It’s gone, isn’t it?” she asked. 

Edmund looked to the pool behind her. “Yes and no. If I wanted, I could go to a time before your sister speaks the Deplorable Word. But what could I do that I haven’t tried yet?” 

“But after I left?” 

His eyes were filled with sorrow and sympathy. “After? There’s nothing but an empty world and a dying sun and Jadis alone on her throne.” 

She shuddered. “I couldn’t stop it.” 

“I don’t think Jadis was meant to be stopped. I don’t think Charn was meant to be saved.” He reached out his hand and Lazulis took it gratefully. “But you were.” 


	10. England, 1949

**ENGLAND, 1949**

When Lazulis stepped into the pool marked  _ HOME _ , she was armed only with a pair of rings. Edmund had wanted to hold her hand on the way to Earth but Lazulis refused. “If I am going to another world,” she told him, “I want to be certain it is my own choice.” To this, he had bowed and extended one hand toward the pool in invitation. 

When the pool’s water washed over her head, she could almost have believed she was returning to Charn. The feeling was exactly the same--except the stars of this universe were sharper and the sun was brighter and the sky, when it formed above her, was a crystalline blue. She hadn’t believed Edmund when he’d said, so long ago, that his world had a different coloured sky. 

She came to rest on a busy street corner surrounded by tall buildings. There were so many people that she almost started to cry for Charn all over again. Instead, she blinked hard and focused on dropping the ring into her pocket for safe-keeping. 

Edmund did not appear beside her, nor did Lazulis expect him to. He had given her a clear description to visualize her landing point, and Lazulis had ignored it. There was another place in his world that he’d described once, long ago, in the dying light of a council fire. Those were the words to which she’d clung. That was the place to which she’d travelled. 

It was easy enough to find her way into the large building across the street. There was a regular flow of pedestrians passing in and out, many carrying large baggage. There was an awful lot of shouting going on, but it was the normal sort of shouting--waving for the horseless carriages that filled the street, or calling out to each other with instructions, or trying to gather wandering children together into a group. The sort of shouting that came from lots of people living. 

Inside the building was a large platform broken by a shallow chasm. There was movement to the crowd, but many of these people were stationary and most faced the chasm. Farther away, the platform dipped into another of these chasms but a long metal machine occupied the space like a hulking beast. 

Her hands trembled. Lazulis was swept up by a sudden horror. This world was utterly foreign to her--she didn’t belong here-- _ surely someone would realize she didn’t belong-- _

She fumbled for her pocket, desperate to leave before it was too late. Her hands was shaking so badly she couldn’t separate the folds of fabric. Her eyes swept across the crowd wildly, certain that someone would be storming towards her--

And that’s when she saw him.

He was halfway across the platform and younger than she’d ever known him. He also looked more lighthearted: he was laughing with another man: the brother and king he had lost. Her throat tightened. 

But the sight of Edmund had eased the panic. Lazulis looked from him to all the other people on the platform and thought,  _ Soon, you will all be dead. _

If she were a better person, maybe she could have tried to save all these people. But Lazulis had limited time. She also had an extra yellow ring. 

_ I don’t think Charn was meant to be saved,  _ Edmund had told her,  _ but you were. _

“And so are you,” she whispered. And so, using the edge of her robe to cover her fingers, Lazulis pinched the yellow ring from her pocket and moved forward.

* * *

When the train crashed, Lazulis had already left the station. She heard the commotion from a block away and for a moment, smelled the smoke of another world’s war. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, yes, I should have known as soon as I signed up to a time travel exchange to write a time travel fic that I, obsessed with time travel stories, might end up getting lengthy with it. I really should have seen this coming.


End file.
